Spring is on the way, that most revealing time when the melting snow exposes the sins of otherwise upstanding dog-walkers, lending new depth of meaning to the word "litter." Also with spring comes the revival of the off-leash park. At the one Gus and I frequent, the dog and human populations will soon triple. The field will resemble an outdoor kaffe klatsch as dog owners renew acquaintances lapsed since November, as do their dogs. Groups will form in both worlds, and in another month the park will become a series of informal clubs, or packs.

And then we will have a problem.

Don't get me wrong. I see the off-leash park as a good thing. It provides an environment where animals can run loose the way they did before leashes were invented and dogs learned to amuse themselves by hauling people this way and that.

For me the charm of the off-leash park (apart from flinging tennis balls with a plastic lacrosse thingie) lies in watching the dog interact with other dogs; it is an activity that requires the owner's full attention, especially given the scope of a dog's nose -- an organ of such sensitivity as to confer upon its owner a kind of ESP.

To compare a dog's nose to that of a human would be like comparing a hand to a stump. And this supremely complex instrument owes nothing to the human presence. We did not train the dog to smell; the ability was bred in the wild and owes its existence to an earlier incarnation of Dog. A timber wolf, trailing a herd of caribou, can identify which animal has a bad tooth. Its nose is a surgical instrument for the purpose of natural selection. It seems reasonable to suggest that, when they chose to associate with humans, dogs did not surrender this capacity. On the contrary they adapted themselves to the new situation. In Thailand ordinarily docile street dogs will growl and show their teeth at recent arrivals from Vietnam, where dog is eaten at restaurants. (Which suggests a proverb: The dog can tell if you've been eating dog. Sounds deep.)

Gus's perception of other dogs and people, with the nose as primary sensor, is probably at least as complex and nuanced as yours or mine. In other words, for every canine deficiency (his grasp of religion, his command of mathematics, his truly terrible piano-playing), Gus has a perception or capacity quite beyond us.

Okay, fine. Now we return to the off-leash park. It's a lovely spring day, Saturday maybe, an ideal day to walk one's dog and to set him or her loose to be free, free, free. Likewise cardboard cappuccinos in hand, owners now feel at liberty to socialize.

Meanwhile their dogs circulate the field, unsupervised, tongues extended… Well, hello. Over the next weeks, unnoticed by Starbucks sippers, the park will gradually become a 'hood for Rover & home. A parallel society will have developed, known as a pack -- a social unit representing an earlier incarnation of Dog.

One thing human beings and dogs have in common is that both have an ancient function to run in packs. In both cases these groups subdivide into leaders and followers: leaders who dominate through strength, manipulation, inheritance or charisma; and followers, who seek to improve their status by beating up on some version of the "other."

In both humans and dogs, the selection criteria can be extremely primitive. We have white supremacists and Hells Angels. Meanwhile in ravines, wild dogs (sometimes called coyotes) will coax a stray domestic dog to play, lead it to the pack and… goodbye Sport. As the philosophic Herr Hofer wrote: "The baring of the teeth in laughter hints at its savage ancestry."

And before you know it there will be complaints about a "dog problem" in the off-leash park. Pay attention. Otherwise, as Gus would say, it can get Rough! Rough!

Next month: Canine sexuality and the myth of neutering will.

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